


Right-Hand Man

by nerdybloomers



Series: 120 Drabble Challenge [7]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Mutual Masturbation, Shame, Viktor with a K, Yuuri is awkward and precious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-06 02:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8730847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdybloomers/pseuds/nerdybloomers
Summary: A three-part collection of our favorite romantic leads touching themselves. Spans from pre-series to post-China Cup.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all, let me just tell you that I haven't written for a current fandom since 2009. I usually stick to Gundam Wing, which is mostly dead as far as new content is concerned, but I am so head over heels for this series I'm exploding. Skating is my hidden fandom, I'm loudly queer, and it's weeb trash? By god am I here for this.
> 
> Part 1 takes place before the series starts, part 2 takes place during/after Onsen on Ice, and part 3 takes place immediately after Cup of China.
> 
> Each part fulfills one of the prompts of my 120 Drabble Challenge, which can be found here: http://shibaayame.deviantart.com/art/120-Drabble-Challenge-250678524

I. Uncertainty (#67)

 

Masturbation is, by definition, a solitary act.

Yuuri palms his erection in the darkness of his room, tucked under the covers. Need for release contends with shame. Lights always off, don’t make any noise, no distractions, no envisioning anything, just sensation. Like he always has. Leave the fantasies for the ice, this is just to take the edge off.

His phone lights itself, suddenly, buzzing once in the stillness, and Yuuri flinches. He forgot to put it on silent. And now - a faint electronic glow casts itself onto his walls, touching the gloss of his posters, and Yuuri scrambles to flip his phone over, or lock it, or do something to just make the light disappear.

He takes a deep breath to push down the shame rising in his throat like acid. He’s angry at himself, and he softens beneath his touch, just enough. It’s ruined, now; how can he touch himself when he’s seen those beautiful images of his idol plastered all over, so pure, brilliant blue eyes judging him in the silence. _This is why I keep the covers on,_ he thinks. _This is why I keep the lights off._ The guilt of eyes, even those embossed on photo paper, having seen him burrows into his gut and he stops.

This was not meant to involve anyone but himself.

 

II. Impatience (#68)

 

He chooses darkness, and all Viktor can do is pause.

How fitting, that Yurio picks a costume from more than a decade ago, a child in a child’s costume. It suits him, in a way; the opulence of feathers and Swarovski crystal is flashy, and Yurio likes flashy. It also fits his small stature, which is a plus. Most importantly, it fits Agape, and Viktor smiles. He feels a swell of pride in his chest, and smiles - he can’t leave his own style alone though, and the only skates Yurio owns are black. He stands firmly rooted in his self-image.

But then when Yuuri hugs him, Viktor feels a change in the air. And when Yuuri ditches his track suit, Viktor has to look away and lean on the rail for support. He plays it cool, like he’s trying to analyze better, but it’s partially to allow him the ability to hide himself.

He camouflages his reaction as best he can, and falls back on technical critique as Yuuri skates to him off the ice. He takes a moment to breathe. Crisis avoided.

And then they’re on the podium together, and Yuuri is losing all that confidence he only just worked himself into, and Viktor can’t stand it. It doesn’t suit Yuuri, and it sure doesn’t suit his program, so he wraps an arm around the younger man’s bicep, squeezing for stability. Yuuri’s shaking shoulders still themselves, and there’s an aftershock running back into Viktor’s hand, but he doesn’t dare pull away.

It’s only a couple hours later that Viktor finally finds himself alone in his room. Makkachin has abandoned his side for the first time, and has decided to sleep with Yuuri tonight. _Yuuri_ , he thinks over and over, and the electricity tingles his palm again. _Yuuri_.

He performed well tonight. Presentation has always been his strength, and whatever he did to unlock his eros, it sure worked. Viktor sighs, and he feels his blood rush again, but this time he lets it happen. He last wore that black costume as a child, but Yuuri is an adult and it changes everything. What fit loose and comfortable on a fifteen-year-old stretches taut on a man of twenty-three, hugging every divot and flexing like a second skin. How the half-skirt flares out and gives the subtlest glimpses of a perfectly rounded ass and sculpted hips, elongating an already perfectly-cuved spine.

All of a sudden, Viktor is in a rush to undo everything, his belt clattering open and sliding through its loops to land on the floor, tugging the hem of his shirt upward with his left as he reaches down to touch himself with his right. The same hand that he tilts Yuuri’s chin with, that he wrapped around Yuuri’s upper arm tonight - does Yuuri know that right this second, that same hand is folding around Viktor? - and the thought excites him to no end.

He skips any sort of preamble and dives in the waistband of his slacks with his thumbs, inching them down past his hips as he allows himself to fall back on his bed. Yuuri’s confidence is branded all over his mind as he pumps himself, shoulders pressing back into the mattress. So coquettishly forward in his old costume, challenging Viktor with his eyes - _yes, that was perfect,_ Viktor thinks, and teases the tip of his cock. How he would love to get entangled in the game with such a perfect creature, writhing beneath him in the sheets, saying his name like a prayer-

And then Viktor snaps his eyes open as he releases himself into his hand, coming harder than he has in any recent memory. He’s not sure if he made any noise, but nobody comes running, and he takes that as a good sign. The sheets suddenly feel too hot under him, and he’s still wearing too much clothing, so he stands and strips down. _Who needs tissues when you can wipe yourself on the inside of your shirt? Save the environment,_ he muses idly, and collapses into a cooler spot of the bed, drawing the covers halfway over himself.

In the darkness, he suddenly realizes how alone he is, and how badly he wishes he wasn’t.

 

III. Dreaming (#16)

 

It was the kiss heard ‘round the world, and Yuuri was still reeling from the excitement. They had returned to their hotel room - _two double beds, thank god_ \- and discussed what they were now, in the way that blushing schoolchildren confess to each other. No, Yuuri did not object to the kiss, or any subsequent kiss after that. And yes, a relationship was something that they would like to try, with Viktor promising to take it slow for Yuuri’s benefit. And honestly, he couldn’t ask for a more considerate approach to the romantic comfort behind the brewing public relations storm online.

By 2 o’clock in the morning, Viktor was long asleep in his bed, dreaming of something pleasant. Yuuri smiled, hearing his new boyfriend - _much better than coach_ , he thought - heave a sigh in his sleep. He tried his best to focus on his phone in the dark. There was no nearby rink to skate off his jitters in the middle of the night in China, and he wasn’t about to go for a run with his GPS as his only companion. Youtube already had uploads of his routines today, both taped from a television broadcast and a few amateurs, recording routines from their smartphones, so he had plenty of angles to consider when critiquing his performance.

And then he heard a whisper of his name, not coming from his headphones. At first, he thought nothing of it, and focused on the dim glow of ESPN. But it came again, startling and low, and Yuuri dropped his phone, scrambling to wrench the earbuds from his skull.

He looked around, absolutely terrified of some sort of break-in or even a ghost, but there was nobody in the room that shouldn’t be. Which just meant him and Viktor. Yuuri let out a shaky breath in relief, only to stop breathing altogether when he heard a rustling of cloth and a noise - a moan? - to his right.

Viktor’s eyebrows were furrowed in his sleep, mouth hanging open, chest expanding with every breath. And, Yuuri realized after a full minute of staring, his blanket was inching very low, and angled upward in such a way that-

_Oh god._ Yuuri paled as the blood left his face, and rushed to his groin. _That’s so incredibly hot._ He screwed his eyes shut, shaking his head. _No, this is private. I shouldn’t intrude on whatever wet dream he’s having._

And then he heard that whisper of his name one more time, but huskier than before, and Yuuri knew he couldn’t stay in his bed to watch this, to hear it, to get so turned on and not relieve himself. No, that’s where his familiar shame kicks in. He can’t even touch himself in the sanctity of his own bedroom without turning off all the lights, so he absolutely cannot do it with Viktor in the room, conscious or not.

So Yuuri steeled himself, pushed his blankets down, and all but sprinted for the ensuite bathroom. Leaving his clothes on the floor in a short, panicked frenzy, he hopped in the shower, turned it on, and turned his attention to his own growing arousal. It was fine, he would take care of this and then get himself back to bed so that he would be awake and functional for their flight back home late tomorrow morning.

He leaned against the back wall of the shower, letting the finally-hot-enough water run down the front of himself to his hand, sliding up and down his shaft. His head lolled to the side, eyes shut like usual, allowing himself to envision Viktor not twenty feet away, dreaming something sexy and involving himself as the star. Need for release built itself in the pit of his stomach and hung there, growing and spreading. Instinct pushed his eyelids open, fluttering lashes with drops from the showerhead beading the edges of his vision, and he locked gazes with Viktor.

Viktor, standing in the bathroom doorway, which Yuuri finally realized dully that he had forgotten to shut in his haste.

_Viktor_ , wearing nothing more than soft sweatpants slung low on his waist, material shifting and giving away the fact that he was playing with himself, too, at the sight of Yuuri.

Adrenaline hit the younger man like a freight train, and so instead of fleeing - where could he run to? Shirtless and sexy Viktor Nikiforov blocked his only exit - Yuuri bit his lip, held his ground and let himself be seen.

“You were dreaming,” Yuuri started and willed his voice not to crack. “You moaned my name in your sleep and I didn’t want to wake you, so I came in here.” He broke eye contact, looked down at his fingers wrapped around himself, and felt his breath hitch. He was close. “You looked so good laying there, I couldn’t help myself.”

Yuuri glanced up, letting Viktor see the fire burning behind his eyes, and wordlessly posed a challenge. He didn’t even know what kind of challenge, but he was glad to see that Viktor took it, as the Russian skater of his dreams stalked slowly over to the shower stall, stepped inside, and slid his left hand around the back of Yuuri’s neck, tangling upward in wet midnight hair. Yuuri moaned, and realized that Viktor was touching himself again, facing each other into the stream of hot water that ran between them. _When did he take off his sweatpants? Nope, not important._

He could hear Viktor’s smirk before seeing it play out on his face. “Yuuri, do you think of me every time you do this?”

So, so close. “No. Not until tonight.”

“Hmm, such a shame,” and then Yuuri feels their foreheads pressed together, “Because I think of you every time, Yuuri.”

The string of images behind his eyes faded to white, as Yuuri finally allowed himself to come with a short, stifled gasp. And then he felt his chin tilt upward above Viktor’s hand, the way he always has, and silvery wet hair tickled his cheek as Viktor kissed him, hard, until finding his own release.

Neither of them was sure how much longer they stayed in the shower, in the small hours of the morning, letting the heated water run down as they kissed, slow and relaxed. Each touch of their lips brought a promise for next time, when they had more time to explore.  
  
After toweling off, Yuuri made his way back to his bed, ignored it, and climbed in to sleep next to a sleepy, sated Russian, who was more than happy to have him there.


End file.
